"I'm not suggesting, I'm telling you, the Brotherhood cannot survive with its current protocols. Either we delve into agricultural sciences and the recruitment of outsiders, or we risk the collapse of the Brotherhood of Steel."

"So we're to just go around finding information on pre-war farming equipment, while countless weapons technologies litter the wastes, ready to fall into any waster's dirt painted hands? This is asinine, Elijah! It's against the very way of the Brotherhood!"

"You think like them, Veronica! Open your mind! Look at this place! We send patrols out to gather food, supplies, what have you. We make none ourselves! It's a short-term strategy employed by those who have no knowledge of how to make a living themselves! Do you think there's a factory somewhere that's still mass producing Pork N' Beans, and having someone sprinkle them about the wasteland? No! The NCR may not be the world's next great civilization, but they are at least sensible folk when it comes to agriculture and economy! The Legion may be marauders and murderers, but even Caesar knows that there is power in society! We are practically surrounded in untapped resources, and we're still going after the same garbage we have hunted since the beginning! Every day we lose a little ground in this place, this wasteland. Every day we lose a few good men. Well, we can't regain our footing without knowing how to grow some corn! For the better part of two centuries, this order has presumed its most valuable commodity to be its hordes of weapons, but the most valuable commodity isn't physical, it's mental! Knowledge is what will win this world! We cannot hope to survive without the means to do so!"

Veronica's gaze slowly shifted towards her feet. Elijah, unfortunately, was right. As the Elder of the Mojave chapter of the Brotherhood of Steel, he was also in charge. For months they had been conducting an exhausting search for books on old world agriculture, tediously examining broken equipment from before the war. Entire rooms were cleared solely for the purpose of raising a greenhouse in. She turned to leave. She hated admitting when she was wrong, especially to Elijah. She couldn't, in her adept memory, recall anyone who didn't hate admitting defeat to the man. He was always right. Always a step ahead of everyone. The man never beckoned after her. He was used to people turning and walking away. It was their own way of admitting defeat, and she knew Elijah was well versed in the language. She locked the heavy metal door guarding his room as she exited, letting out an aggravated breath as she did so. This was her way of admitting defeat. She knew it to be true; the Brotherhood could not rebuild, or even survive as they are, without some sort of self sustaining system. Unfortunately, the belief was not shared by his comrades and subordinates, thus the butting of heads was commonplace under Elijah's rule. Doubly unfortunate, Elijah was a father to her, and this made her one of so very few capable of understanding him. Veronica climbed into bed. She knew her spar with Elijah would have awoken a new vigor in him, and tomorrow the Brotherhood would likely brave another of Elijah's unorthodox endeavors. There was no stopping it, the only ally she had anymore, besides Elijah, was prayer.

Elijah stiffened in his chair. Another day, another game of tug-of-war with his constituents. He could handle the accusations his comrades levied at him. While confident, if not narrow-minded individuals, they could not challenge him the way Veronica could. He hated arguing with her. As firm as he felt with his beliefs, almost counter-intuitively, he did not want her to emulate his ways. Even if he believed himself right, it didn't make him any friends in this place. People fought his every move. Achieving the rank of Elder was painstaking and arduous, and heavily, if not entirely, owed to Elijah's own cunning, rather than his ideals. For every thesis, an antithesis formed in his path. His survival meant always being the smartest man in the room. Unfortunately, he knew himself to be a stubborn old man. Elijah poured over the map. He eyes fixated on the crudely drawn destination marking the base they would settle in a weeks time. It was a tall structure, surrounded with solar panels. It could nearly power the entire region. Elijah suspected, however, there would be more to this phallic monument than it advertised. Nothing in this world, Elijah theorized, was without malleability, "In every shield, a weapon", or, as Veronica translated, "In every fork, a foodapault". Given half a day's walk, they would likely no longer need a map. After excruciatingly examining volumes of books on the region, Elijah had happened upon a diamond in the rough. Such a cliche saying in the old world, yet its relevance bolstered exponentially in the wastes. The world was rough, and diamonds littered the place, though no one seemed to look for them anymore. Elijah, however, could not help himself from seeing them. Everybody else seemed to be so blind, as though they had outgrown their ability to see the potential in their every movement, in their every thought. Elijah shook his head gently in disappointment. Certainly to the disdain of his fellow members of the Brotherhood, Elijah would hasten their journey tomorrow morning. Excellence, after all, waited not for the lazy.

Elijah stood and turned left, facing the room that would be his for the night. As he did so, he noticed the return of a sharp pain in his lower back. He cursed at his age inwardly, and made for the door. Closing it behind him, he too, loosed a sigh of defeat. The only comfort left in his world besides Veronica, was anticipation. Elijah reveled in his anticipation. In closing his eyes, Elijah could open his mind to the many forces at work in this world. It reminded him of a very old game. It was better than music.

So my second tale begins. The first few chapters are dry, so bear with me.